A generic "Funky Walker, Dirty Talker" low-down wocka-wocka guitar riff opens the evening as the camera pans past a brick wall of a cop to a line of bums seated on a receiving bench in a random precinct house. But, oops! One of the bums isn't a bum at all. Cole, appearing to be as irritated with the guitar riff as I am, glowers at the bum to his left for a moment, then fixes his gaze elsewhere. Oh, and oops! It's not a random precinct house. It's The Only Precinct House In San Francisco, as we discover when Detective Darryl strides into the room to tower above Cole. Cole greets him with the snitty "Is this the way you treat every driver with a busted headlight?" To the contrary, Darryl claims. This is the way the San Francisco Police Department treats everyone driving without a license. Not to worry, though. Darryl's convinced his off-camera Latino colleague "Lopez" not to cite Cole for the offense. Cole stands to leave, but rather than thanking Darryl for the intervention on his behalf, he starts bitching up a storm about the inconvenience. Darryl quite naturally takes offense at Cole's shirtiness, and starts bitching up a small squall of his own. Stomping over to the precinct's assignment board, Darryl Vanna-Whites his hand up and down over the neglected "open cases [he] should be working on" instead of "cleaning up [Cole's] mess." Cole protests he's as unhappy with the situation as Darryl is, whining about being human without proper ID and not having a job and not being able to pick up a gallon of milk without getting arrested and wah while Darryl blithers about how lying to his superiors for The Glamorous Ladies Of Halliwell Manor is bad enough and now he has to worry about Cole as well and no one ever thinks to thank him and blah and the two end their individual rants with the meta-statement, "It just sucks!" The gentlemen pause for a moment to recover from this moment of mutual vehemence before tossing off the following exchange:
Cole: You good?
Darryl: Yeah.
Cole: Me, too.
Darryl: Okay.
And then they kiss. All right, they don't. It's going to be a long evening.
Piper and Raige enter the station house at that moment and sweet Jesus, what the hell is Raige wearing? It appears to be a white vinyl zip-front jacket with silver appliqués, which would be bad enough on its own but is made that much more hideous by a foot-wide white feathered collar piece flaring from Raige's eminently snappable neck. The collar looks like it was carved out of a swan's ass. Piper gasps in a voice dripping with concern, "Oh my God, Cole." She follows this immediately with, "How's my car?" Of course. Of course she does. Cole shoves his hands into his pockets and mildly replies, "It's fine." "That was the first and the last time you borrow my car," Piper sneers. "Got it? Good. Let's go." Piper spins on her heel to exit as Cole and Darryl wiggle their eyebrows at each other in that "women -- they so crazy" way that tells us all this scene was comedy gold. It also tells us that Cole and Darryl are going to hook up later for "a couple of beers." Cole follows the gals out as Darryl checks out Cole's ass from behind. Fine. Not really, but we're only a minute and a half into this episode and I'm already near-comatose from the boredom, so just go with it, okay?
Out on the sidewalk, Cole engages in a torrid round of tonsil hockey with the cheap and easy exposition as he complains that "being [human] was supposed to make [his] life easier," but instead his life is "getting worse by the minute" and that "Phoebe was closer to marrying [him] when [he] was still a demon." Piper opines that "getting busted by the cops is not the best way to win [Phoebe] over." Yeah, and slipping the tongue to any old literary convention that wanders into his path isn't a terribly effective way for him to woo his supposed beloved either. And let's not even get started on the Darryl thing. Raige chides Piper for making Cole feel like even more of a loser than he already is. Before Cole can smack her for such a backhanded defense coming from a woman as tawdrily-dressed as she, a car horn blares, followed by metallic crunching noises and a scream. The three stop dead in their tracks and gape at the street. Piper eventually breathes, "Oh, God," and the three dart out of the frame.
A four-door hatchback has flipped onto its roof in the middle of the road, the unconscious driver strapped upside-down in her seat. Defying all laws of physics I'm familiar with vis-à-vis car accidents, a fire presently breaks out on the asphalt adjacent to the rear driver's-side window. Needless to say, the flames immediately race up the exterior of the overturned vehicle to fan out across the entire undercarriage. Someone more familiar with such things is going to have to explain to me what the hell is so flammable about the entire undercarriage of a hatchback, just as soon as I start caring about the possible answers. Actually, don't bother. Upon closer inspection, it becomes evident that the pyrotechnics crew simply rigged a line of fire jets about a foot behind the car, and the director is forcing the perspective to make it look like the entire car's on fire. "It's about to explode," Cole warns, much to my disappointment. Had he rather said, "It's gonna blow," I could have reminded him that it already does. Piper freezes the scene and races over to the vehicle with Cole in tow as Raige remains on the sidewalk. Piper and Cole struggle briefly with the jammed door before Piper turns to spot Raige, seemingly paralyzed by the sight of the blaze. Piper calls to her, presumably to have Raige orb the occupant out of her seat. Raige remains rooted in place, aghast. Cole eventually forces the door open, and he and Piper pull the woman from the car. As they drag the victim onto the grass, the background scene unfreezes and the hatchback explodes. For a moment, I think to myself that only Pintos blow up that quickly. Then I remember I don't care. The force of the explosion knocks Piper and Cole to their respective knees. Piper rises to address Raige, wondering why she didn't hustle over for an assist. Cole glances up at Raige as well as Raige remains still, hyperventilating a bit in what I'm assuming is meant to be a low-key panic attack. The camera pulls in tight on Raige's face as an image of the blazing wreck on the street is superimposed over it like Raige is the Firestarter. Credits.
Manor. Cole races down the stairs to the main hallway clad in a shiny brown turtleneck that is entirely the wrong color for him. We know he's no longer a demon -- as he's told us twice already this evening and will tell us again in a matter of seconds -- but please: No more earth tones on Julian McMahon. Stick to the black or go with some Amish solids, because anything else just washes out his face. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Phoebe follows, demanding to know where Cole intends to go and what he intends to do once he's there. Cole claims he's heading out in search of "a life." With Darryl. Phoebe frets, "The last time you left like this, you went out and got a gun." After insisting that he'll not repeat that particular error, Cole reluctantly admits he needs "action." With Darryl's gun. Phoebe: "I kinda thought we were doin' okay in that department." Cole squints his eyes. I roll mine. "Overnight," Cole notes, he was transformed "from all-powerful demon to mere mortal." Now, he has adequacy issues. No comment. Yet. However, Cole continues, saving the prior evening's accident victim from certain immolation has given him a newfound sense of purpose. He's determined to find a reason aside from Phoebe "to get up in the morning." Like...Darryl? Cole feels Phoebe's drifting away from him in the wake of his rejected marriage proposal. Having slathered this particular expository guilt trip all over his would-be intended, Cole takes his leave. Phoebe pouts. I yawn around the cigarette dangling from my mouth. Amazing how the filter can remain glued to your lower lip during moments such as these.
Phoebe pushes her way into the kitchen with, "Am I the world's biggest bitch or what?" Piper, scrambling some eggs on the center island, pauses pregnantly to exchange A Look with the Dolt before answering, "Nah. Too easy." As she pours a cup of coffee, Phoebe moans, "Cole vanquished his demon half." As I tap my cigarette against the ashtray, I moan, "No, Feebs, he didn't. Emma The Forlorn Fiancée did." "He gave up everything he has ever known for me," Phoebe continues. "No, Feebs, he didn't," I counter. "He had no choice whatsoever in the matter. Emma smashed the Demon Be Gone into his back and Belthazor took his Flaming Balls Of Death back to Hell in a fiery snit, so shut up. Now." Phoebe doesn't listen to me. She never does. She bemoans the fact that she can't find it in herself to marry the guy. I bemoan the fact I can't find it in myself to care, and yet I must continue recapping this conversation. Piper and the Dolt lay a little pop psychology on Phoebe, claiming that Phoebe's primary reason for dating Cole was her unspoken, and perhaps unacknowledged, certainty that the relationship would be short-lived. You know, because of the whole "witches can't marry demons" thing. And, evidently, because of the whole "all relationships must culminate in a trip down the aisle or death" thing I must have missed the memo on at some point.
Phoebe, thankfully, switches the topic of conversation over to Raige and her inexplicable inability to offer assistance the evening. "That is so weird," Phoebe observes. "I mean, she can handle demons now, but she can't handle a car wreck?" Oh, I don't know. Raige seems to be handling the season thus far just fine, Phoebe. THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT! The Dolt ducks his head down and clams up during the Raige chat, drawing the attention of Piper and Phoebe. Questioned on his uncharacteristic silence, the Dolt eventually admits Raige told him "in confidence" that her adoptive parents died in a car wreck "eight years ago when she was still in high school." You mean they missed out on Tonya and Nancy and both O.J. trials? Poor adoptive parents. Not. Raige never properly dealt with their deaths, the Dolt reveals, which probably explains her aversion to exploding hatchbacks. Phoebe suggests that the trio "help her deal with it." Piper and the Dolt purse their respective lips and stare into the middle distance.
BLACK HOLE OF SOCIAL SERVICES, still living up to its name as Raige is on the phone, not promoting the cause of a client but rather checking on the condition of the unnamed woman from the evening's accident. To Raige's relief, the woman is fine. As she hangs up the phone, she spots Piper and Phoebe barreling through the office doors. They, of course, want to chat about the horrific accident that left Raige's parents smeared all over a city intersection. Raige, of course, wants them to go to hell. She grabs a couple of folders off her desk and storms over to the copier as Piper and Phoebe trail behind her, peppering her with comforting noises. Raige loses it, shouting as she does so. All work in the office halts as Raige's colleagues gawk at the witchy triad. Wait. "Work"? Sorry. My bad. Raige pulls it together long enough to beg them to drop the subject for the moment, promising to ditch the BLACK HOLE to meet them both back at the Manor. Raige brushes past Piper and Phoebe to inform her boss, while Piper and Phoebe fruitlessly will the ground beneath them to open up and swallow their guilt-ridden selves whole.
The Loneliest Precinct House In The World. Cole brightly barges in to make Darryl an offer he can't refuse. Cole wants to assist Darryl with his "caseload," if you know what I mean. Darryl tells Cole to make like a tree, which under the right circumstances could sound filthy. I think this is one of those circumstances. Cole wrestles Darryl into a nearby room for a "private chat." So, that's what they're calling it nowadays. I'm so not on top of the millennial slang. Darryl: "You wanna be a cop?" Cole, overeager like a puppy dog: "I used to work for the DA's office; I know the law. I'm a former demon; I know the streets." Darryl: "You wanna be a cop?" Nudge, nudge. Cole: "Not exactly." Well, a reasonable facsimile thereof. In a shocking display of continuity, Cole wants Darryl to close the continuing investigation into his disappearance and clear his name. If all goes well, Cole would then be able to function as a sort of "civilian assistant" to the good detective. Darryl's not having any part of these silly euphemisms, but before he can toss Cole up against the wall for some hot man-on-man action, Darryl's superior enters to reclaim his office. Darryl wags a finger in Cole's face, promising to continue their "discussion" at a later time. Cole shoulders his way past Darryl's superior to try his luck in the men's room.
Manor parlor. Sordid Tales Of Raige's Past, as narrated by the moist-eyed lady in question. She was a "rotten" teenager, or so she claims. She skipped school, she drank, she smoked, she sassed her parents, she partied with her friends. Sounds pretty standard so far. The only thing that's missing is sleeping around. I suppose I should note during this teary little monologue that while it is tedious and predictable, this is no reflection on the job Rose McGowan's doing with the material. The script alone is responsible for the diabetic attack afflicting me at the moment. McGowan actually seems capable of selling material far more difficult and honest than this pap, so what is she doing on this show? Oh, wait. Fifty thousand dollars a week in compensation, right? Forgot about that. Anyway, we finally arrive at the real reason for her ongoing grief. The day her parents died, she pulled the Shut up! You can't tell me what to do! You're not even my real parents! bullshit temper tantrum I understand all adolescent adoptees spew at their guardians at some point or another. Even unbelievably irritating adolescent adoptees who are actually contrivances of plot manufactured to protect the world against hell gods by abstruse eastern-European monks. Or by Joss Whedon, if there's an appreciable difference. The kicker is that Raige pulled said tantrum while in the car with Mom and Dad on the way to their weekly "family night," a Matthews household tradition Raige found "super-lame" at that point in her life. A father/daughter screaming match ensued. Pardon me, a firefighter-father/slacker-daughter screaming match ensued. For, yes, gentle reader, Raige's dad was a fireman. The Fire Department of New York should forget protesting the proposed ethnically-diverse reinterpretation of Thomas Franklin's flag-raising photo and instead firebomb the Charmed writing staff for shamelessly attempting to graft the Department's reputation as of late onto Raige's "character" "development." So, long story short, while Dad was screaming at Raige, another car crossed into their lane. Dad smacked into it, and the thing Raige knew, she was safe on the pavement while Mom and Dad were roasting away inside the car. Must have been a Pinto. Raige, of course, blames not shoddily-constructed Detroit rolling stock for her parents' untimely deaths, but rather herself. Phoebe draws Raige into an embrace as Piper asks the Dolt, "What do we do? How do we help her deal with something that happened in the past?" "Send her back to it," is the Dolt's cryptic response. Raige drips snot onto Phoebe's blouse, improving its appearance immeasurably.
Attic. The Ps plus the Dolt spark up a circle of candles on the floor as Phoebe announces, "I don't get it." Should I? Nah. Not worth the effort. Seems the Dolt intends to summon a fellow named Clyde, otherwise known as "The Ghost Of The Past." Alyssa Milano must have bribed the writers, for Feebs is the one to connect this "Clyde" person with the oeuvre of Charles Dickens. The Dolt confirms the connection, claiming that the time traveling in A Christmas Carol found its origins in an encounter Dickens had with the "malevolent" Clyde. Piper mocks the ghost's name. The Dolt admits that Clyde himself isn't terribly fond of the name, either. Raige, meanwhile, worries that asking a malevolent entity for help would be akin to using "black magic," thereby violating the dictum prohibiting spells for personal gain. The Dolt assures her that, as the goal of her trip back in time is simply to understand the true cause of her parents' accident, the personal gain prohibition does not apply. Um, okay. I guess. Not. That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, Dolt. You're all hoping Raige will gain some sort of "solace" or "closure" or whatever the hell you want to call it through this little exercise, so how is that not using magic for personal gain? Whatever. I don't know why I bother. Piper neglects to call the Dolt on his flawed reasoning, and instead wonders if they should prepare a summoning spell. The Dolt notes that Clyde ignores spells and starts screaming "insults" into the air. Apparently, the only way to get Clyde's attention is to slander his character, or something. The insults? Not terribly good, but this show does have to maintain that TV-PG rating it has going. To wit, the Dolt calls out, "Clyde! Get your butt down here, you fetid worm from the bog of eternal stench!" and "Your mother was a chunky substance from a gin cesspool, and she smelled bad, too!" Guys? Just because your target audience is preadolescents doesn't mean you have to hire preadolescents to write the scripts.
Whatever. A whirlwind appears and presently deposits this "Clyde" person in the middle of the circle of candles on the floor. This "Clyde" Person is played by one of the most regrettable guest actors they've ever had on this show, which, in all fairness, might be due to the direction he'd been given. To indicate that he's a "harmless" malevolent spirit, he's apparently been told to SCREAM. EVERY. LINE. You know, the sound-and-fury, all-bark-no-bite style of cartoon acting so often found on Saturday morning children's programming of lesser quality. He isn't so much destroying the set by eating it as he is by BLARING IT ALL DOWN. So, This "Clyde" Person is PEEVED, as the Dolt called him away from a CLIENT he had accompanied to the original WOODSTOCK to see JIMI HENDRIX. Phoebe's ears perk up at this. I'm assuming she's interested in traveling back in time to beat Cynthia Plaster-Caster at her own game. I suppose this would also be an example of personal gain, but I'm not even going to bother to point that out. Except for the part where I just did. The Dolt fills This "Clyde" Person in on the task at hand. After a bit of negotiation (read: blackmail), the Dolt convinces This "Clyde" Person to waive his customary fee. This "Clyde" Person refuses to accompany Raige, however, so the Dolt agrees to act as her guardian. This "Clyde" Person snaps his fingers, and a battered wooden door complete with frame shoots down from above into the middle of the circle. He opens the door to reveal a world of wonder therein, if by "a world of wonder" one means "crappy grey CGI swirls against a black background." Raige takes a deep breath and steps through, followed by the Dolt. This "Clyde" Person -- who's barefoot, by the way, as if he could be any more annoying -- tries to sell Phoebe and Piper a little trip down memory lane for themselves. As he does so, two of the crappy grey CGI swirls escape into the attic behind his back. Piper declines his offer for the two of them. This "Clyde" Person shuts the door and, snapping his fingers once more, sends it flying out of the attic. He takes his long-awaited leave by snapping one last time and flaring out.
Left alone, or so they think, Phoebe and Piper hash out a plan for Raige's return. Piper agrees to whip up some comfort food in the kitchen for dinner, and heads to the door. One of the swirls takes this opportunity to dive-bomb into Phoebe's tits. Phoebe's tits quiver like Jell-O on a fault line as the swirl worms its way into her body. "Jell-O on a fault line"? Who am I trying to kid? More like saline implants on a starlet, for that's exactly what they are. Phoebe straightens herself and in Alyssa Milano's best cracker accent addresses the remaining swirl in the rafters thusly: "Don't worry, Frankie. I'll find a you a body, too." Time travel and demonic possession in a single episode? Aw, guys. You shouldn't have.
No, I really mean it. You shouldn't have.
Somewhere in time, That "Clyde" Person's door slams down into the middle of a bedroom and flings itself open. Raige flies through and snipers immediately to the carpet. The Dolt follows, but remains on his feet. Hey, Dolt. Don't take this the wrong way, but those pants make your ass look fat. The Dolt shuts the door, which disappears. Raige rises and gasps in horror at her reflection in a mirror. She's wearing a Vietnam-era Army surplus fatigue jacket over a horizontally-striped t-shirt, but that's not what frightens her. She's more concerned about the braces on her teeth. I'm more concerned about that nasty wig they slapped onto her head. The bangs are cut in a straight line across her eyebrows, which wouldn't be bad were the sides and the back bobbed up to her jaw à la Louise Brooks. Unfortunately, they aren't. Rather, the flatly-ironed sides and back hang limply past her shoulders. She looks like Joanne Worley. Raige is outraged. She thought she'd be an observer. The Dolt corrects her, explaining that she must relive the experience as her former self. Raige is as pissed as I would be, were such crucial information withheld until this point. She was looking forward to "[sitting] on the sidelines and [making] sarcastic comments about [her] lack of style." Sorry, honey. That's my job. The Dolt instructs her to take a look around. Raige reevaluates the "lack of style" thing. "Hey, you're right," she tells the Dolt. "I was cool. Even then." Not. The only cool thing about Raige's 1994 bedroom is the Bride Of Chucky doll dangling from a bookshelf. The other elements include about fifteen Metallica posters and a Godzilla figurine. In a word: Loser. Then again, I really have no room to talk. If I remember correctly, I had posters of 1940s movie stars on my walls when I was sixteen, like I was Anne Frank or something. I suppose "closet case" works just as well there, but this isn't about me, is it?
Raige's reverie is interrupted by a knock at her door. At the Dolt's urging, Raige crosses to open it. Meet Fireman Matthews. Raige hurls herself into his arms for a hug. Pops snorts a bit at her effusive greeting, then sniffs the air. "Is that smoke?" he asks, drawing away from her. "Are you smoking in here?" Well, no. She does have a lit cigarette on the windowsill, though. Because teens smoking cigarettes ranks right up there with priests diddling altar boys in the WB's Hierarchy Of Sin, Pops recoils and sneers at Raige as if scabs of leprous flesh were dangling from her cheekbones. "I don't know how much more of this your mother and I can take," he snorts, stubbing out the butt and stomping out of her room. Jesus. It's not like you caught her with a crack pipe, Pops. Ease it the fuck up. Raige's face falls right into commercial.
And just what, exactly, is the first commercial? One of thetruth.com's "hidden camera" spots. I light a Marlboro Red and give an entire Hispanic family the finger.
Back from the break, Raige stomps down the stairs in search of her father to apologize. The Dolt stops her to remind her of the rules for their visit. She is to relive the day exactly as she did eight years ago. Should she forget something, the Dolt is there to remind her. Also, only she can see the Dolt. Uh huh. So, during the thirty-five minutes, Raige will attempt to alter the past, the Dolt will try to stop her, and the people around them will think Raige is schizophrenic because she appears to be talking to air. Am I right? Like I have to ask. Does that mean I can skip to the end? No? Dammit.
Raige eavesdrops on her parents, who bemoan their foundling's wicked, wicked ways. It sounds like the typical complaints any two parents of an adolescent would have -- ohmygod she's smoking, ohmygod she'll never get into college, ohmygod she thinks Metallica is good -- but Raige interprets it all to mean they hate her and she should never have been suffered to live and gee, wouldn't it be great if she were kidnapped into white slavery so they'd never have to deal with her again? The Dolt tells the little camper to buck up and remember what she's there for. Raige bravely fixes a bright smile on her angst-ridden face and pushes through the kitchen door to greet her mother. Good Lord, it's Va-Jane-Ah from Popular. Poor Lisa Darr. What did she do to deserve this? Raige rushes into her mother's arms, exclaiming, "I missed you so much!" Lisa Darr clearly thinks Raige is tweaking on Ecstasy. Referring to Raige's earlier unwarranted display of affection, Pops snorts, "See what I told you?" Pops and Lisa turn their backs on her to finish washing up the dishes in the sink. Raige launches into a speech wherein she promises to straighten out her life. Lisa and Pops have heard it all before, and call Raige on her "you're not my real parents" tirade from the evening. So Raige didn't throw that particular hissy in the car, then. Interesting. It's a pity (spoiler!) that the vagaries of one's memory of traumatic events will never be explored in this episode. Pops and Lisa roll their eyes at each other as Raige rants on and on and on, which I find very amusing. Pops at last tells Raige to can it and get her ass to school; they'll talk about everything that evening at the family dinner. Yeah, the family dinner -- of doom! The Dolt reminds Raige she must repeat every action, no matter how trivial. Raige pouts and stomps off to attend the triviality that is high school. The Dolt exits the same way That "Clyde" Person did: his image falls into high contrast, with the darker bits melting away as the brighter bits flare out. Cool effect. Too bad they'll never use it again after this episode.
Elsewhere in time, Piper sautés some onions for a pork roast. Phoebe, the other other white meat, teases her hair while gazing at her reflection in a mirror and pouts, "Do you think I'm a natural beauty, or is this one of those gym bodies?" I am so not touching that one. Piper, picking up on the cracker accent, snorts, "What is with the Blanche DuBois?" Actually, she's more Marilyn in Bus Stop than Vivien in Streetcar, Piper, but I'll let you have that one. Cole enters, still clad in that fugly brown turtleneck. He pecks Phoebe on her lips and asks, "What's up?" Phoebe Possessed gives him the once over, purring something about him being "the most, to say the least." I have a Grease flashback. Insert your own version of Patty Simcox's tittering giggle here. Phoebe wiggles her eyebrows at the "Frankie" swirl, which has been lurking near the ceiling the entire time. Frankie dive-bombs headfirst into Cole's crotch. I wish I were kidding on that one. Cole straightens up (not like that) and pounces on Phoebe to commence with the spit-swapping. Given the swirl's chosen point of entry, you'd think Cole Possessed would instead head back to The Loneliest Precinct House In The World to see if Darryl's ready for "lunch." Piper natters on obliviously in the foreground about "sisters' night" and wah before noticing that Phoebe and Cole are a couple of hastily-discarded pairs of pants away from doing it right up against the refrigerator. She rolls her eyes and sets a fresh-from-the-oven Bundt cake on the center island. The possessed pair stop with the spit-swapping and dig their fingers into the cake. Piper bats them away, telling them to head elsewhere if they're hungry. Cole surreptitiously steals Piper's car keys from a nearby counter, calling Phoebe "Lulu" as he does so. Piper throws a conniption, the scale of which dwarfs the collective conniption recently thrown by Enron's shareholders: "Enough with the pet names and the accents in the kitchen and could you come up with something better than 'Lulu'? It sounds like a poodle." Good point, though it's better than "Mallory," which sounds like a duck. While we're on the subject, Frankie's a lousy name as well. Why not just go to the source, guys? The Possessed are going to be Charlie and Caril for the rest of the recap, and you can blow me if you don't like it. Speaking of blowing, Charlie doesn't like Piper calling his Caril a poodle. So, he picks up a carving knife from the center island and, in Julian McMahon's best cracker accent, threatens Piper with it. Piper finally realizes that something demonic is afoot in Halliwell Manor. Caril explains she and Charlie are ghosts with a bit of fifty-year-old unfinished business, then belts Piper in the face.
High School Of The Damned. Raige can't believe she remembers her locker combination. I can't believe we're only halfway through this hateful episode. Raige receives a page from a "Michelle Miglis," eliciting a set of raised eyebrows from the pill of a Dolt. "You had a pager in high school?" he asks. Unfortunately, he leaves out the accompanying "Did you dealdrugs?" which viewers of a certain age would expect to follow that question. Raige blows him off as Michelle Miglis appears to Raige's locker. Yes, they're doing that Clueless thing where the kids are so over-wired to the new technology that they use their pagers and cell phones to contact each other, despite the fact they're standing five feet from each other at the time. I should give them props for referencing an actual movie from 1994. Then again, 1994 was the last time that joke was funny. Michelle snits at Raige, "Remember your whole peppermint schnapps theory? How you can't tell it from a breath mint? Well, you're wrong. I got. So. Busted." Snicker. Speaking from experience, Michelle, the same goes for menthol cigarettes. Just so you know. The Dolt disapproves. "You drank at high school?" Oh, lay off her. It's not like she got baked in her sister's Volkswagen Rabbit with Lori O'Connell and Lori's little freshman brother at eight in the morning right before senior assembly on the first day of school or anything, Dolt.
Oops.
It was all Lori's fault! I swear! She even gave me the Doublemint gum to mask the smell!
Anyway, Raige and Michelle talk and walk down the hall, with Michelle bitching about getting grounded for two weeks over the schnapps incident while Raige suggests that Michelle's mother is merely attempting to set appropriate boundaries for her daughter. Michelle thinks Raige is on crack. The bell rings, and Raige and Michelle head into class.
History Class Of The Damned. Stan Grossman from Fargo drones on listlessly about the Magna Carta as each and every student ignores him. Raige checks her watch. Michelle passes her a note. Stan Grossman calls them "delinquents." Oh, so it's like Special Education in Hairspray, only without the beehives and the hand jive and the dodge ball. How...original. Not. Raige has had enough edumacation for one day and rises from her seat to leave and find her parents, despite the Dolt's repeated warnings against such action. The speds, on the other hand, cheer her on. Raige twists the doorknob to find her path blocked by a school security guard. "Going somewhere?" he asks rhetorically. Wah wah wah.
The Loneliest Precinct House In The World. Piper races in to ask Darryl if he found any information on Charlie and Caril. Seems they were small-time jewelry thieves who were gunned down in the early 1950s. Piper rolls her eyes. "I knew they were criminals." "Who?" the clueless detective asks. "The ghosts who possessed Phoebe and Cole," Piper replies, loudly enough to turn heads. Darryl drags her into a filing room, reminding her that she agreed to dispense with the "creepy talk" while within the confines of The Loneliest Precinct House In The World. Piper rolls her eyes again and fills Darryl in on the day's events. Charlie and Caril told her they had unfinished business, and she's worried that should they injure or kill anyone, Phoebe and Cole will be the ones who end up in jail. With Raige and the Dolt stuck in the past, Darryl's the only person she can turn to for assistance. Darryl grits his teeth, but agrees to help. Anything for Cole. Right, Darryl? According to the database, Charlie and Caril were killed in front of a jewelry store during a botched robbery. The store still exists. Perhaps that's where they went?
Indeed it is, as the shot reveals. Slo-mo Charlie and Caril stride into a store and remove their sunglasses. Caril notes "one security guard, armed" and "two female customers." Charlie and Caril approach the counter, where they're greeted by the officious...oh, the hell with this. You know? The. Hell. With. This. The subplot is asinine (which, given the main plot, is saying a lot), Alyssa Milano and Julian McMahon's Southern accents suck, Cole's pomaded hair is ridiculous and shows off to great disadvantage McMahon's spreading male pattern baldness, their clothes are horrible, and I just don't give a rat's ass. Caril and Charlie disable the security guard, steal his gun, and swipe a diamond engagement ring. The store's surveillance camera gets the whole thing on tape. That's it. That's the scene, okay? Let's move on.
Sidebar, if you'll allow me a moment. The popular rumor has it that the Charmed production staff had planned for a Raige-centric Christmas episode entitled "Home For The Halliwells" prior to the events of September 11th. In the wake of those events, the WB canceled all plans for holiday-specific episodes across its entire programming schedule, with an eye on the possibility that further terrorist attacks could force the network to preempt that programming. "The only time to air an original Christmas episode is around Christmas," the thinking went. "Since we can't guarantee world events will allow for that, let's just get rid of them all." I don't have a problem with that business decision. It makes complete sense. (For an example of how awful hastily-retooled holiday-specific episodes can be, I give you "Four Scary Stories," courtesy of the idiots responsible for Dawson's Creek.) What I do have a problem with is that the Charmed production staff evidently decided to merge the Raige-centric Christmas material with a pre-planned later episode focusing primarily on Phoebe and Cole. There's enough material in tonight's offering to be spread across two episodes. Two very very bad, very very tedious episodes, but still. There had to be a better way.
Anyway, back from the break, San Francisco's finest are investigating the scene of Charlie and Caril's crime. Again, I don't care. Piper and Darryl stumble in, Piper freezes the scene so she can steal the surveillance tape while Darryl gets rid of the fingerprints on the counter, Darryl discovers Charlie and Caril knocked over a bridal shop down the street, Piper realizes the criminally-insane lovebirds just want to get married, and the two leave. Holly Marie Combs and Dorian Gregory are both terribly amusing during all of this, but like I said: I. Don't. Care.
Principal's Office Of The Damned. Raige and the Dolt chatter away on a bench outside the office while Lisa and Pops consult with a "Principal Harris" regarding Raige's latest transgression. Raige has issues. She traveled back in time to stop feeling guilty, and now she feels guiltier than ever! Lisa and Pops think she's a total screw-up! But she's not! It's not fair! If only she could convince them that everything in her life ends up okay, but she can't! Because they die before they can see how successful she's become at avoiding anything resembling work at the BLACK HOLE OF SOCIAL SERVICES! Raige determines to somehow avoid the car accident, thereby saving her parents' lives and altering history in the process. For some reason, altering history in this instance is verboten, despite the fact they've altered history before on this program, with no ill effects. Obi Dolt Kenobi tells her, "You can't change history, [Raige]. Only learn from it." No, Dolt. See above. "The reason we journeyed to the past," he continues, "was so you could learn from it." "They're my parents," she counters. "I have to do something." I must admit, I'm completely with Raige on this one. Raige leaps from the bench and storms into the office proper to interrupt the meeting. She discovers she's being suspended for sassing Stan, cutting class, smoking on campus, and possession of alcohol. Only a suspension? Sweet. You just know that nowadays she'd be expelled and sent to Catholic school where she belongs. Lisa and Pops, however, are gravely disappointed with their little foundling.
Outside the school on the way to The Family Four-Door Of (Spoiler!) Fiery Doom, Raige babbles about how her parents have to trust her that things turn out for the best: she gets a degree in social work, she goes to Berkeley, she helps other people work through troubles of their own, blah blee whatever. Lisa snarks over her shoulder that she and Pops have heard it all before. Raige stops them, pleading with them to see her for who she really is. "I'm not who you think I am," she softly insists. Just as softly, Pops asks her how she knows what they think of her. Raige can see the contempt and disappointment in their eyes, she claims, and she needs them to understand that at some point in the very near future, she "finds" herself and settles down. "I'll find myself because of you," she tells them. "You shaped who I am. I am not a bad daughter. You did not raise a bad daughter. I'm good. I just wish you could see it." Pops and Lisa drop the bomb: they already know all of this. It's just that, as with any two parents watching their child struggle through life, they at times feel helpless to protect her from the agita and tsuris every child must to endure to become an adult. Lisa Darr even gets teary. Aw. Sorry your show got canceled, hon. Raige has a quiet little epiphany at all of this, and the three move in for a group hug. She once again promises to mend her errant ways, and the three break to enter The Family Four-Door Of (Spoiler!) Fiery Doom. Raige convinces Pops and Lisa that they should skip heading to a restaurant that evening and just remain at home. Pops and Lisa shrug at each other and agree to the plan. Raige closes her eyes and lets loose a sigh of relief.
Inside the car, the Dolt greets Raige with a scorching glare of disapproval. She ignores him. As he pulls out into the street, Pops cheerfully wonders if they should order in. Raige would prefer some of Lisa's "home cooking." Everyone giggles. "You shouldn't do this," the Dolt warns darkly. "You can't change the past." "I just did," Raige coolly replies, settling back into her seat. "You don't know what you're doing," the Dolt adds, just before he flares out of the back seat. A rather small moving van runs a stop sign as Pops heads through an intersection. Raige screams a warning as the van plows into the driver's side of the car. Raige orbs out of the back seat as the van smashes into Pops and Lisa. The car flips twice as Raige orbs back in onto the pavement, unharmed. The Family Four-Door Of Fiery Doom explodes. Smell ya later, Pops and Lisa. Raige rises to her feet, and her braces wail their way to commercial.
After the break, accident aftermath. Raige is hysterical. The Dolt is comforting. Well, as comforting as the Dolt ever is. Raige couldn't prevent the accident, because it wasn't her fault in the first place. Her parents' numbers were up, and there was nothing Raige could do about it. "It was their destiny," he tells her. "Just like it was your destiny to be saved by magic." It slowly dawns on Raige that she orbed out of the car. Actually, she comes right out and says, "I could always orb." The kindly gang on the forums has suggested quite rightly that Raige would have realized this long before she met Piper, Phoebe, and the Dolt, but I'm going to let it slide because I want to finish this damned recap before my fortieth birthday. This realization gives Raige some comfort, but she continues to weep, for Pops and Lisa died never knowing what a success she made of her life. We get several shots of the flaming Family Four-Door Of Fiery Doom, but I'm not seeing any crispy remains strapped into the front seats. Not that I necessarily need to, but, hey, what's good for The Godfather, Part II should be good enough for Charmed, dammit.
The Wonderful World Of I Don't Care. Piper and Darryl search for Charlie and Caril. Meanwhile, Charlie and Caril -- in wedding drag -- hold a priest at gunpoint. The priest unwillingly recites the marriage vows. Piper and Darryl barge in. Darryl and Charlie engage in a pissing contest. Charlie gets shot. The swirls, thwarted, exit Phoebe and Cole. Piper summons That "Clyde" Person, who appears in time to retrieve Raige and the Dolt from the past. The Dolt heals Cole while This "Clyde" Person sends the Charlie and Caril swirls back through his magical door. This "Clyde" Person leaves, taking his door with him. Phoebe agrees to accept the now-healed Cole's offer of marriage. Piper, Raige, and the Dolt beam. Darryl weeps the bitter, bitter tears of rejection.
Christ. I just realized why they named him "Clyde." I told you I was near-comatose from the very beginning of this episode.
Manor dining room. The Ps toast Phoebe's engagement with apple cider, which in my book is bad luck. Never toast with non-alcoholic beverages. Ever. Don't say I didn't warn you. Weekly Summation Time continues apace. While Raige discovered she did not cause the accident that killed her parents, she remains upset that Pops and Lisa will never meet the reconstituted Charmed Ones and learn what Raige has become. Enter the Dolt, dragging the spirits incarnate of Pops and Lisa behind him, courtesy of That "Clyde" Person and his magical door. Lisa tells Raige they're very proud of her. Pops reveals that they've been watching Raige the entire time: "We were with you every step of the way." Even when she was shamelessly fornicating with Shane and Glenn? That's just disturbing. Raige flings herself into her dead parents' arms as Piper, Phoebe, and the Dolt grin. Raige wells up as we fade to black.
That sucked.
Speaking of Glenn, week he comes back from Australia and turns into Reed Richards from The Fantastic Four. Something tells me Darryl gets to be the guy who bursts into flame. Enjoy.